"Sure," said Walter heartily.
"Sho'," Chris agreed solemnly.
"Thanks," said Charley simply. "I'll do my best. Now, Walt, I wish you would show me how to run this truck. I've got a hunch that I'm going to have to use it a whole lot the next few months, and now's as good a time as any to learn."
Fortunately the truck mechanism was very simple. And in half an hour Charley had so far mastered the principles of the different levers that he felt sure that he could run it if necessity demanded.
"There's one thing more to do before we reach camp," Charley said, when his lesson was finished. "We ought to unpack our pistols and have them handy in our pockets. I don't expect trouble, but it is just as well to be ready for it. I guess there are some pretty tough characters in that bunch. I noticed, big man as he is, Murphy had a couple of big pistols strapped on him when he was in camp."
The pistols were gotten out of the pack and carefully oiled and reloaded. They were late purchases and looked as small and harmless as toy pistols, but their appearance was deceiving. In reality they were automatics of the latest make, deadly accurate, and each, when loaded, carried 11 steel-jacketed bullets, that could be discharged in as many seconds. When slipped into a coat pocket they made only a slight bulge.
By the time they had all pocketed their weapons they came in full sight of the camp. Charley stood up and viewed it with a puzzled frown on his face.
"Something's gone wrong," he announced.